


The Abyssal Gibberish of Goule

by Forkbeard



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:03:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16465727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forkbeard/pseuds/Forkbeard
Summary: These are the insane, innane meanderings of The Young Prince, Goule.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xylianna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xylianna/gifts).



> In the sprawling pirate haven of Scuttlecove stands a crooked building known as 'The Birdcage.' Three harpies run the establishment, extracting information from the prisoners brought to them for a price. Their favorite treasure is The Young Prince. A undead baby human in appearance, he is categorized as an advanced, evolved slaymate. Goule constantly yowls, screeches, and acts up, desperate for the attention of the harpies, their servants, or anyone in the vicinity. The Young Prince enjoys writing stories that make little sense to anything but itself. The harpies keep it well-supplied with sticks of charcoal and pieces of parchment or paper, and dozens of fragmentary stories written in Abyssal lie scattered around the cage floor. These are those stories.
> 
> The consumption of alcohol may strongly benefit the enjoyment of the words printed below. Please be advised.

We tend to think we have the best methods.  
Until we expose ourselves, we cannot truly know the error of our ways.  
Luckily for me, I am trapped here, and have no other frame of reference.  
I AM KING.

\-----

Package together the random questions floating in the minds of all humanity, and you just might determine the meaning of life.  
Or at least, maybe you'd really confuse someone.

\-----

 What makes 'super' such a great word?  
It's just a meal with one less 'p'.  
If I peed less, then that would be pretty super.  
I guess that must be why.  
Language works in mysterious ways.

\-----

Some things are never final.  
Some people think they are, but even so, they are not.  
Nothing is ever final until it has been ruined beyond the point of saving.  
Even then, it probably won't be final until those developing it run short of funds or will.

\-----

First the cloud, then the squall.  
Which is another form of cloud.  
Truly, mimicry is the finest form of flattery, but only to those on the outside.  
What does the cloud think?  
Probably nothing, because clouds are not sentient.

\-----

When you can't think, then you are a complete warrior.  
Because then nothing can get in the way of your battle prowess.  
Like the annoying need to breathe.

\-----

"What's in the bottle?" I asked. "I don't want whatever it is. I can smell rot and decay on your breath."  
"Ooooh! Someone is hungry! Yes! This bottle is yours. Now drink up!"  
My captors torment me daily with their lack of knowledge of the language of abyssal gibberish.

\-----

What maddens us makes us stronger.  
Faster.  
Better.  
Harder.  
Look at yourself.  
Now there's a guy who, when he runs, he goes faster.  
Boom.  
He's the best there is, and can't be denied.  
I then think, when I tell myself these things....  
"Boy I wish I could run."  
We all require personal validation as a form of primeval sustenance weather it makes sense or not.

\-----

Trust me.  
You, reader, do not want to be in this place.  
Especially if they start asking questions.  
It's a bad time.  
No one rates this place very well on yelp.  
They do yelp well here, though.  
HYPOCRITES!

\-----

I need feeding!  
And a bath!  
It is ludicrous that this method of communication might be the fastest.  
No one seems to understand when I ask them for my favorite thing I mean 'boiled clams' and not 'the rattle.'

\-----

Not to wax poetic, but perhaps I should author a haiku.

Waaah! Waa wa waaaaaahwah…  
Wa waaah wah, ma wa waaah ma.  
Wa waa waaa waaaaaaaaaaaah ma!

Was that one any good?  
Not better? Worst ever? Stinks?  
No one likes my art.

\-----

All play and no work makes Goule a strange boy.  
All Play and no Work makes Goule a strange Boy.  
All ʎɐlԀ and ou work sǝʞɐɯ Goule ɐ strange ʎoq.  
All paly and no wrok mkeas Gluoe a sgrtnae boy.  
Al ply an o wrk make Gole a strage by.  
  


\-----

We and you make a bigger we.  
Perhaps there should be more than one word for we, to tell just how many of us there are.

\-----

The whitest water will rush slowly if you want it to.  
It's all just your frame of reference.  
Time is a river.  
Just slow it down.  
It's simple.

\-----

Fire clutches the passive best.  
Those who have given in to their mortality.  
This is for the best.  
No one wants to smell you any more after that bridge has been traversed.  
Least of all you, I'd imagine.

\-----

My ultimate goal is to be published upon nothing but the finest parchment for all the world to see.  
Perhaps then, when the entire world is at my beck and call, I'd get those boiled clams I so desire.

\-----

Two dulcimers raised to the degree of forty half dulcimers,  
divided into equal parts by the third cackle of grouse geese,  
put over the result of ten fine mackerels  
(albeit 'SMALL' fine mackerels),  
stretched over the total of 53 and a third bottles of wildebeest lard...  
yields a gilded minnow of precise measure;  
Two thousand sixty-nine centidrils by three million twenty-three punds  
(NOT punts, as might be expected).  
This is not to say,  
however any sense,  
whatsoever,  
that deviations in mean temperature of 5 or 6 degrees or so...  
indicate a fabrication or derivation sufficiently broad enough to exacerbate the conclusions uncovered in due course,  
with regards to dimensions,  
consistency,  
mass,  
or thickness inherent in the menial suckling grouse.

\-----

In ancient times, I am sure that you folk must have been smarter than you are now.  
Everyone pays so much money for information these days.  
Why don't people ask the right questions in a courteous manner?  
Surely society is a lost cause.

\-----

Moistness is my least favorite part of being.  
Nothing good can come of it.  
Based on personal experience, I would recommend that you buy stock in towels.  
Sponges.  
Cloths.  
These are commodities that can never go out of fashion.

\-----

Wild arms hug the fiercest.  
Don't allow anyone to dissuade you from this universal truth.  
It will only bring misery and bland hugs, which are a more different misery.

\-----

A black cat that does not cross your path, but rather sits directly IN your path is the most unlucky of all.  
Not for you, mainly just for the cat.


	2. More Abyssal Gibberish

The truth is a funny thing.  
The longer you stare at it, the more you love it.  
Nothing like calculus

 

Why must the stars war with each other?  
Why not embrace the peace of the stars?  
No one wants to see that.  
That’s why.  
I radiate the heat of three suns.  
None of them peaceful.  
God bring me ice.  
I am WARM.

 

They say that the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.  
But who do they think they are?   
They have never seen the abyssal plane.  
No fences.  
No grass.  
Mainly oceans of tears and blood.  
They couldn’t POSSIBLY comprehend suffering the amount required to make grass grow in any case.

 

I would let loose a hoarde of trained bees for every dime that was ever capable of making onions cry…  
Every.  
One.  
Ever.

Someone in here bit a man from dawn til dusk.  
Their methods are questionable, but effective.

 

How well and nearby the flame is.  
It radiates such that I might burst.  
Do not puncture me, for fear of incineration.  
Use, misuse, and intentional abuse all agitate me equally.  
I am fatal, mind you.

 

Lost!  
I say, all is lost!  
My write-stick has broken!  
I must soldier on in the face of this adversity… BUT HOW?!  
When is the hour of darkness?  
Aren't there more than one each day?  
Or are we talking about just the darkest one?  
Just before the dawn, right?  
You’d think that.  
Stereotypes hurt us all.

 

The core of my crisis is that I have been uncovered for too long.  
Cover me and my core’s crisis shall abate.  
Use whatever tactics you wish, just get that blanket over me this instant.

 

My advice is to grow a beard.  
Because when I comb my hair I sweat fortitude.  
And napalm.

 

Water boils QUITE fast when I boil it.  
I even WATCH it.  
I think of nothing but boiled prunes, obviously.  
I AM easy to please.  
‘

When dark clouds are in the sky, they shadow my hearts.  
Plural, yes, but nonetheless shadowed.  
No amount of hearts will save you from such clouds.

 

P F T L C P D L V   
F M C M C G C   
R S S J D A S S T  
M N T X E N D V  
D E S D C F F X R   
H G U G D W P T  
K M F S S D M

 

It never rains on me.  
A point of pride for some… but I might prefer otherwise.  
Maybe I want to be rained on?  
What did the rain ever do to anyone?  
It’s all a conspiracy to stifle our fun.

 

They say love means never having to say you are sorry.   
Well I am sorry, but whoever they are, they are woefully misguided.  
Go forth and hunt monsters, I always say.  
Maybe I’ll be a they someday.

 

I have the most uncanny of abilities.  
Any time that I think of boiled prunes I stop time for up to two hours.  
Don’t ask me how it works, or how you count the hours while time is stopped.  
It is a useless parlor trick.  
I can’t stop thinking of boiled prunes for 2 hours.  
This took 4 hours to write.  
Too many boiled prunes….  
…6.

 

First be reborn.  
Secondly, reminisce.  
After this can you only then be redeemed.  
A reconnection can be made, but only after finally replaying the initial three steps.  
Gee, you wouldn’t think that would hack your thoughts, but it does.

 

I hold no concept of time.   
My house has no clocks.  
That said, my house isn’t much to speak of.  
It’s an empty cage but for my writing supplies.

 

I have nightmares.  
In them, I hurt my knee, I only have one hand, I am struck by lightning, and someone breaks my leg for good luck.  
I blame myself.

 

Why you…  
The dawn of eternal poison is nigh!  
Fear this if you have ever said ‘bespoke.’  
Either you are quite ancient, and thus deserving of it, or you are not using it correctly.  
There might not be a middle ground.  
Ground is usually on the surface.

 

 

Ice tastes so good.  
Ice tastes like nothing.  
Nothing tastes good.  
Good tastes of ice.  
So…  
Like…  
Of course ice tastes good.  
Nothing tastes like ice.

 

The chief export of the abyssal plane is pain.  
We get royalties every time a new person says the word ‘ouch.’  
It’s kind of our thing.

 

Who are my parents?  
I don’t know why you ask such things.  
I am the child of frailty, corruption, and sloth.  
Yes.  
All three.

 

Was I way far out there?  
My three cooked enough.  
The benefits loved not that they were had, but that they were beneficial.  
Prideful benefits…But it’s nice that you love your best quality.

 

I invented tyranny recently.  
For some people secretly have a lot of problems.  
Too many for them to handle.  
That means they can share with the rest of you.


End file.
